Falling to Pieces (20 page)

“It’s not my place to share what happened, and I won’t. But I can tell you he operates within the English law. He is quite persistent. He follows a thing through to the end, and won’t let it go until he’s sure he knows the answer. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing is hard to know.”

“So you’re warning me about him?” Callie sat back on her haunches.

“I don’t know if warning is the correct word. I will pray that God leads Shane onto a different path, onto the path of the killer, because I know you didn’t do this.”

“In my past, praying hasn’t been very effective,” Callie said softly. “It feels as if everything is falling to pieces. As if my life is one of those old quilts I found in Daisy’s closets—one I have no idea how to restore.”

Deborah didn’t argue. She merely leaned forward, hugged her, and whispered, “We will pray diligently.”

“Perhaps while we’re praying we should start looking for the real killer ourselves.”

Deborah began gathering up her things. “I can’t say that I know what a killer would look like,” she teased. “But I can certainly ask around about any suspicious-looking persons.”

“And I’ll keep my ears open here in the store. I also think I’ll pay a visit to the new editor.”

Deborah stopped with her hand on the door. “You’re not still worried about him printing a retraction, are you?”

“Honestly, not so much.” Callie stepped closer as an English woman and child paused outside the store to study the window display. “But Deborah, if Stakehorn was murdered, and then someone broke into the shop, it could be that the new editor is in danger. We should at least warn him.”

“I’m sure the police warned him.”

“They probably warned him about
me.
I didn’t do it. He needs to know someone else is out there, and that they might be after him next.”

“Ya
. You might be right.”

“Or maybe the new editor could find a clue in the print shop as to what actually happened.”

“Callie, the police went all over the print shop looking for evidence.”

“I know they did, but police can miss things that someone with an eye for the news will find.” She shrugged and pushed her friend out the door. “Go home to your
bopplin”

“You promise to be careful?”

“Yes, of course. Kiss the baby for me.”

It wasn’t until she was in her buggy and traveling out of town, that Deborah remembered about the bag Callie had left in The
Kaffi
Shop.

D
EBORAH DIDN’T
go straight home.

It wasn’t yet three, and her
schweschder
Miriam had said she didn’t need to pick up the children until five. If she hurried, she had enough time to stop and see Tobias and Reuben.

If Jonas’s information was accurate, Tobias helped with the fields at their
grossdaddi’s
place during the day, caught a brief nap in the afternoon, then pulled the late night shift at the feed store most weeknights. She should be able to catch him before he left for town.

Pulling up at the old farm house, she put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. It looked as if the two men weren’t bothering to put much work into the old place. In fact, as she walked up the steps of the old farmhouse that were in sore need of repair, she began to wonder if she’d misunderstood Jonas. Peeking in the front window, she saw a few pieces of furniture, but they had old bed sheets covering them.

Tobias and Reuben stayed here?

Spinning in a circle she studied the fields.

They looked well tended enough.

Then her eyes landed on the barn.

The windows near the door were clean. A clothesline peeped
out from behind the back corner of the building, and she could just make out pants and a shirt flapping in the breeze.

She glanced at the northern sky where the clouds were building. The clothes would get wet from the storm darkening the skies if they weren’t brought in soon.

She made sure Cinnamon was settled, then hurried around the corner of the barn and began removing the clothing. Her arms were full and she was unfastening the last shirt when Tobias appeared from the back door of the barn.

“Deborah? What? What are you doing out here?”

Tobias was tall, easily six and a half feet, and skinny as a pole. He hurried to help her, one hand holding his straw hat on his head, the other taking the bulk of the clothes from her arms.

He motioned her toward the door of the barn. When she stepped inside, she looked around in amazement.

“You’re living here?”

Reuben stepped through a doorway that was cut into a partition, separating the barn neatly into two halves. The complete opposite of his cousin, he was closer to Jonas’s height—maybe five foot eight—and solidly built.

“Ya. Gut
idea, right? We figured why keep both places clean, when we spend most of our times out here anyway.”

Deborah closed her eyes, considered arguing with them, then realized their sisters had probably already given it a good try. Why bother? “Closer to your woodwork too.”

“Exactly. Step through the door and I can work on an order or check on an animal.” Reuben and Tobias smiled at one another.

“Want some
kaffi
or tea? We just finished eating an early dinner.” Tobias led her through the entry room into a bigger room, which apparently served as their sleeping area and sitting area both. Beds were pushed up to the north wall, and a stove, sink, and cupboard took up the southeast corner. A square wooden table separated the two.

“Danki,
but no. I need to head home before the rain starts.”

“Ya,
looks like it will be a
gut
storm.” Reuben looked at Tobias. He was the older of the two, the one who stayed on the farm full time. He’d also recently started a small woodworking business that was doing well.

It was obvious that neither were used to having callers, so Deborah plunged right in. First she set her bag on the table and pulled out a chair. The men followed her lead.

“I came by because I wanted to talk to you about the
Gazette
.”

Both men nodded. Reuben pulled on his suspenders. Tobias drummed on the table. Neither offered any information.

“About Mr. Stakehorn?” Deborah prodded.

“Ya,
that was a terrible thing.” Reuben looked to Tobias, and the younger man nodded in agreement.

“I know it was a terrible thing. What I’d like to know is what you saw, specifically.”

“Well, I didn’t see anything.” Frowning into his
kaffi
grounds, Reuben shook his head slowly. “Nope. Haven’t been into town at all this month. Been through town, when we had church meeting, but I haven’t stopped in town at all.”

“Reuben isn’t one to go into town much. Mostly I’m the one who picks up supplies,” Tobias explained.

Deborah sighed, closed her eyes again, and prayed for patience. These two had lived alone so long, they’d forgotten the art of conversation. Either that or they were being purposely slow.

Her eyes popped open.

She studied them a moment, like she would two quilt pieces that didn’t want to fit together. Reuben shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Tobias shot a glance at his cousin, but Reuben refused to meet the look. Did he put his hand up to stave off any question or comment the younger man might make? Or maybe he was reaching for his napkin. She could be imagining things at this point.

“My mistake. I thought you two might know something about the paper. My friend is having a bit of a problem, and I was hoping you could clear up some misunderstanding.”

“Would be happy to help if we could,” Reuben muttered.

“Sure we would,” Tobias agreed.

“But we can’t,” Reuben added, a bit quickly.

“Well, I suppose I should be going then.” Deborah stood as if she was about to leave, then paused as she looked out at her horse. “Say, Reuben, I noticed that Cinnamon seemed to be limping a bit on her right front hoof. I wonder if you’d mind checking it before I start home.”

She didn’t squirm at all over the lie, since it was only a half-truth. Jonas had promised to check the hoof after dinner. It would be a neighborly thing for Reuben to do it for him.

“I’d be happy to, Deborah.” He visibly relaxed that the questioning was over. Grabbing his hat off the hook on the wall, he hurried out of the room, like a boy let out for recess.

Tobias squirmed in his seat. “Sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“Maybe
kaffi
would be good. If you have some left.”

“Sure do.” He jumped up, began fiddling with the pot on the stove, pulling a cup out of the cabinet and finding sugar.

“So, Tobias, how do you like your job at the feed store?”

“I like it all right. Gets me off the farm a little. Don’t take me wrong. I like working in the fields, but a guy likes to spend time in town as well.”

“Sure. I know what you mean. I go in town fairly often myself.”

“You?” Tobias looked up in surprise as he poured the boiling
kaffi
into a chipped cup. “I thought you loved being on the farm with Jonas.”

“Oh, I do. But I quilt you know.”

“I remember now.
Mamm
and my
schweschders
brag about your quilting.”

Deborah smiled at the compliment. “It’s why I go into town so often. Callie Harper, she’s the friend I spoke of earlier. She’s also the new owner of Daisy’s Quilt Shop.”

Tobias brought the cup over to her along with the sugar and some cream. He didn’t refill his own cup, but sat down and began to twirl the spoon he had been using. “I suppose she’s had a hard time, what with Stakehorn and all.”

“Ya.
It was quite a shock for her to find him.”

Staring at the table, Tobias muttered, “Would be for anyone.”

“You were there that night?”

“Reuben said it would be better not to talk about it to anyone, Deborah.”

“Did he say anyone, or the English?”

Tobias ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Suppose he meant the English, or more specifically, Black.”

“Black was here?”

“Ya.
Here and the feed store.”

“He talked to you?”

“Not just me.” Tobias looked up quickly. “He talked to all the guys.”

“Sure. But you didn’t have much to tell him, right? I mean it’s not like you were staring out the window when it happened.”

“That’s what I told him. I had stepped outside to crush some boxes, so I was the one who saw her running down the alley. Stopped to watch and make sure she was okay. Of course I wasn’t the only one to hear the lady’s car alarm go off. Then I saw her fussing with the keys, jump in, and sit there a while.”

Deborah thought about his explanation.

It matched up with what Callie had said.

“I didn’t lie to him, Deborah. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Black seemed to think we were all holding back. It made him angry, but he had no evidence to pull any of us in. Everyone had
what the English call an alibi. Remember, we were all at work. But as far as involving ourselves in their investigation, we’d rather stay separate. Reuben is right. It’s not our place. You know how it is between the Amish and the police. We’ll help them if there’s a need, but no one at the feed store saw any need. Stakehorn’s dead, and nothing we can say will change that fact. It goes against our ways to become involved.”

Deborah nodded, took a sip of the bitter
kaffi,
and tried not to wince at the taste. “It’s only that I’m trying to help Callie out, and we’re not exactly sure what happened before she arrived.”

Tobias didn’t say anything, but he did rub his hand along the back of his neck again, as if he had an ache that no amount of massaging would ease.

“This woman, Callie Harper, she means a lot to you?”

“She does. I believe the Lord brought her to Shipshewana for a reason. But now—with all that has happened—I’m worried she’s going to be scared away. Or worse yet, that Shane Black is going to harass her until she runs away.”

“She’s English though.”

“Ya,
but being English isn’t a sin, Tobias. I believe your
mamm
taught you better than that. We’re to help those we can.”

Deborah looked out the window, saw the dark storm clouds closing in, and knew she needed to head home. Although their farms were close to one another, she didn’t want to risk driving the buggy through a heavy rain.

Reuben was walking back toward the barn. She only had another minute or so. Somehow she needed to think of the right question to ask Tobias, because he wasn’t going to offer up the information she needed.

But the thought had no sooner crossed her mind, when he cleared his throat and did just that.

“Here’s the thing. We didn’t lie to Black. None of us did. I know I didn’t, but perhaps I didn’t tell him everything either.”

“What didn’t you tell him?”

“He asked me about Tuesday night and what I saw then. Since I’m the one usually carrying the boxes outside during the late shift, maybe I’m the only one who heard. He probably would have pursued the line of questioning more, but he received a phone call and we were interrupted. I thought to go back and tell him, but I can’t see how it would make any difference. Dead is dead.” Tobias rubbed his neck again, then pushed on. “Stakehorn had people there arguing with him nearly every night the entire week before. I don’t know what was going on with the man—he’d never been easy to get along with—but the week before he died, well, it was worse than ever.”

Reuben was nearly at the door, but Deborah had enough time to pull out a scrap of paper from her bag and jot down the short list of names Tobias gave her.

It wasn’t proof, but it was a place to start. She’d begin first thing in the morning.

Callie made it to the
Gazette
ten minutes before closing as the first raindrops began to hit the pavement on Main Street.

Mrs. Caldwell once again sat behind the front desk, like a guard at a front gate. She looked as stoic as ever—like a tough battleship; no smile adorned her face, every gray hair remained in place, and her glasses hung from a chain around her neck. Still, it seemed to Callie that the last few days had taken its toll on the woman.

Callie waited for Stakehorn’s receptionist to finish a phone call. Then she noticed the two no-nonsense shoes peeking out from the bottom of the desk—one blue, one black.

Hanging up the phone, Caldwell turned to her without changing her deadpan expression. “We close in eight minutes, Miss Harper. I doubt we can do anything for you; and as
you
are aware, Mr. Stakehorn isn’t here.”

Did she emphasize the word
you
?

What was that supposed to mean?

“I was wondering if I could speak with the new editor?”

“Mr. McCallister? Were you wanting to threaten him as well?”

“No, of course not.”

“He’s busy.”

“I can wait.”

“We’re closing.”

“How long is he going to be busy?”

“That’s irrelevant. Come back tomorrow if you want to see him.”

“But this can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Caldwell put on her glasses and peered over them at Callie. “I doubt that seriously, unless you are here to threaten him. In which case I want to warn you that I won’t tolerate a repeat of last week’s performance.” A muscle began to twitch on the right side of the older woman’s mouth, and Callie watched in fascination as tears began to pool in her eyes.

“I’m not here to threaten anyone.”

Caldwell stood and pointed to the front door. “Go.”

“But—”

“Just go.”

Callie looked from the receptionist to the door and back again. Caldwell opened a desk drawer, and Callie had the absurd thought that there was a gun in there and she was going to be shot, when the door to the back office burst open.

“I demand that you give me my father’s things.”

Mrs. Caldwell groaned.

“You have your father’s things, Mr. Stakehorn—” said a man’s voice.

“All of his things!” The response was a shriek and Callie automatically stepped closer to the desk.

A stockier, younger version of the former editor exploded out
of the back office. Already balding, he was built like a bull with no visible neck at all—and his face was bright red.

Standing beside him was a slender man with shoulder length sandy hair. He wore wire-framed glasses and looked to be in his early thirties. “You have all of his things, but you can’t have the things which belong to the paper. Now if you want Mrs. Caldwell to call the police to come and escort you out, she’d be happy to do so.”